Tummy Time

Recently I was at a friend's home enjoying a rare moment of watching cable tv when a commercial for a new fashion program popped on. The concept of the show is for the fashion designer to find a dress that fits the body type and occasion for the women participants. A new episode will highlight, Abbie, a military wife who is about to see her husband for the first time in several months since his deployment. The designer has Abbie try on a very flattering, body hugging, saucy little pink vintage dress that looks absolutely fabulous! When she stands in front of the mirror, all that Abbie can focus on, though, is how the dress clings to her body and how badly she thinks it make her tummy look. First of all, Abbie looked A-mazing in the dress. Second of all, Abbie's tummy didn't look bad in the dress at all - sure it pooched ever-so-slightly - but not to the extent that she carried on about it (she kept running her hands on her midsection as if to iron away her stomach's shape). And, thirdly, I highly doubt that her husband, after not seeing (or touching) his wife for several months, would have spent even a nanosecond of the time Abbie spent looking at, let alone scrutinizing, that one section of her body.


I instantly felt very, very sad for Abbie, but I also recognized her anxiety. I recognized her body image issue from a personal struggle but also as a struggle from every single one of my lady friends. I have yet to find a woman who has not over-critiqued herself standing in front of the mirror or who has deemed an outfit unworthy due to a body image issue even in the face of friends telling her how amazing she looks in it. I have a very clear memory of getting ready for girls not out and trying on an amazing low cut top to show my friends before heading out. All I could do was focus on the imperfect body that caused the material of the shirt to pucker in places that horrified me. One of my friends grabbed my face, looked me in the eyes, then dropped her glance and tilted her head towards my (amazing, if I do say so myself) cleavage and said, "Ummmmm, I don't think anyone's gonna notice your tummy." I giggled, considered her words, and, I'm embarrassed to say, changed the shirt.


All of this tummy talk led me to one of my favorite activities: people watching. People watching has always fascinated me and since I've been on a quest towards fierce love and acceptance of my body, I find myself noticing all the glorious variations of bodies that surround me. This past weekend while out and about, I turned my attention to women's midsections and the results were mind blowing. In my observations I came up with the, highly unscientific, conclusion that approximately .8% of the tummies I checked out could be deemed as "perfect." And those .8% women were fully clothed, so I'm left to wonder if their abs included any imperfections that couldn't be detected through clothing...and I have a creeping suspicion that even those ladies have their share self loathing moments in front of the mirror.  


The most interesting part of my midsection review is that none of the bodies that I glanced at caused me repulsion. Yet I have, literally, been so repulsed by own body that I wouldn't even wear certain clothing because of the anxiety it caused me. And yet, there I was just noticing how stomachs looked and had no reaction other than just observing. How is it that an area of one's body can cause such tremendous personal turmoil and to another person it means nothing?


I've got a hunch – a gut feeling (pun intended) – that if I could look at myself through those some non-critical, observation-only eyes that I used this weekend, I'd notice a much different me. Yes, you there lady in the mirror, your stomach does pooch out. Hey, self, yep – two pregnancies (not to mention puberty, weight gain/loss, age) has, indeed, left some stretch marks and a jiggly belly. There is nothing more to say, feel, or critique here...so, walk away from the mirror and go have a big fierce day.





P.S. Check out this amazing song "Pot Belly" http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ObVpeJ6U2G4

Fierce Solo Love

If I ever utter the words “you complete me” to someone, it better be only to my own reflection in the mirror. If I can't be complete in my own skin and in my own company then I really don't have any business being romantically involved with someone thinking that they will bring completion. Since being rejected several weeks back I have taken some serious inventory of not only the characters in my dating history but the role they have played. I've thoroughly thought over the people I dated and contemplated (heavily!) why I put up with their shit for any longer than 10 minutes after the shit was exposed.

Admittedly, some of these thoughts would not have occurred to me if it hadn't been for the book He's Just Not That Into You, by Greg Behrendt and Liz Tuccillo, which I recently devoured in one evening. Since this isn't a book review blog (and, more importantly, since I'm not getting paid to write reviews) I won't go in to a long discussion on the book. But I will say that it is a fantastic read and it is painfully straight forward. I highly recommend it. While the book is targeted for straight single females - I think any one (straight, bi, gay, female, male, single, married, divorced) can glean from it ideas about being treated well by people we allow in our life and not lowering one's standards simply to avoid being alone.

Fierce body love is officially no longer just skin deep for me...I'm starting to fiercely love my soul, too. In fact, I love my soul so fiercely and care in such a big way about where my life is going, that I'm ready to consider that just might mean me being partner-less and single...and, I think I'm (going to be) okay with that. There is so much I hate about being single– the dateless weekend nights, the dateless weekday nights, not having someone to look forward to seeing, being alone in the evenings, no regular sex, having no one to share responsibilities, fun, laughter, emotions, or love with. But as I take stock over that lovely dating history of mine, I realize that I never actually found anyone to truly share those things with. Sure, there were moments of good (or at least, moments of “okay”) but if any of the people I shared those times with were of any quality or substance, then - hey! News flash! - I wouldn't be single right now.

I realize that, for the most part, the people I dated and the relationships I was in caused me more pain, confusion, mistrust, self-doubt, uncertainty, suspicion, anger, sadness, loneliness, and heartache than I cared to previously recognize. I have enough of those emotions and negativity in my life due to my own insecurities, I certainly don't need someone hanging around whose behavior causes that negativity to increase. As Mary J. Blige sings, “I can do bad all by myself.” And, as Greg Behnerdt points out, “You can feel like crap and be alone. Or feel like crap and at least have someone to spend the holidays with...the only two options you are giving yourself involve feeling like crap.” Time to replace some crap with some fierce love.

For me, getting rid of the crap and fiercely embracing self-love means: I'd rather hire a babysitter and take myself out for a nice dinner and a movie than to sit in my room crying and obsessing over what the f is so heinously horrible about me that I can't score a date. I'd rather completely enjoy a weekend trip alone rather than to stay in cell phone range checking every other minute to see if I've accidentally missed any calls, texts, emails, or FaceBook messages from the person I've been going out with (and obsessing over why s/he hasn't gotten a hold of me...everything's been going so well...what could I have possibly said or done to make him/her not contact me). I'd rather fill up my calendar with outings with friends, fun family activities, solo date nights, and even to work some overtime a month in advance rather than keep an empty calendar just in case the gal/guy I'm totally crushing on asks me out. I'd rather fiercely love myself than hate myself because no one else will love me. I'd rather have fierce self-love than be in love with someone who clearly doesn't love me on a level that I can feel her/his love. I'd rather be fiercely alone than with someone who makes feel lonely.

The reflection in the mirror is all I've got today. If I'm truly embracing where my body is, today, right now, in this moment, present-tense/present-day, than I'm also ready to embrace my whole self – relationship status included. If I'm going to be miserable, let me be so because of my own mistakes – not because of someone I'm involved with. And if I'm going to be happy, let it be by my own doing – not because of someone I've involved with. I don't need to be romantically involved with any one. I am already fiercely complete.

Fierce Love > Big Rejection

(Alternative titles of this post, according to my wonderfully supportive cousin/close friend: "Some People Deserve to be Kicked in the Face" or "Most People are Generally Decent, but Some Are A Complete Waste of Air") 

Several years ago I was engaged to be married. The person I was engaged to had a lot to say, regularly, about my short comings – my weight (“I was watching you sleep last night and I wondered how it would feel to have gained that much weight.”), the things I liked (“I'm just now sure if I can stay with you if you can't be more interested in the things I'm interested in.”), my religious views (“God isn't all fluffy and lovey. He's full of vengeance and wrath – you need to be more aware.”), and my personality (“You're so happy all time its made you naive.”). I spent so much time trying to change and modify who I was that I lost myself. In the end the “new me” wasn't good enough for my fiancee any way (“You're so serious and depressed all the time – what happened to the happy girl you used to be?”). We never got married. Thank. Goodness.

Despite an engagement that didn't stick, I find that I still play a silly game when it comes to dating. At the start of a new relationship, especially those first few dates, I tend to wear clothes that I normally don't wear, put makeup on more frequently, take extra time with my hair, make sure that my house and car are always neat and tidy, and try to do the things that I think the other person will like. If I start to question how things are going or am concerned about the behaviors of the other person, I generally keep quiet – after all, this is new and I don't want to rock the boat. But all of that is ridiculous. How is someone supposed to get to know ME, if I'm so busy acting in ways that aren't true to myself?

I've had some terrible experiences on the dating scene and while I'd like to blame all the “thems” that I've gone out with, there is a common denominator that needs some attention – ME. Here is where I get fiercely honest with myself – the same thing is going to keep happening unless something changes. Lately, I made some changes. In the spirit of fierce self love – I have been determined to be myself, should the opportunity present itself for a date, without the silly dating game. Rather than looking for a potential relationship, I've stayed focused on self-love, positive body image, and acknowledging that I'm a pretty darn decent person.

When I look in the mirror I am starting to see my piercing hazel eyes, full lips, wild 'n free lusty curls, and stunning smile that I posses and like about myself. I remind myself of the qualities that I admire most in myself and remember that I have a long list of positive ideas of who I am. I've been clicking along quite happily - fiercely loving myself - and even found myself on the road to, what I thought, might be a romantic relationship. For the first time in years (ever?) I laid aside all the games and was just ME.

Let me tell you, fierce body/self love is all fun and games until someone gets rejected. And I have been rejected. Actually, to be more accurate, I've been ignored, forgotten, and dismissed. It's been a rough few weeks. Rejection is one of the worst (emotional) pains that I know. To make matters worse I am sincerely confused – I don't know what happened or why it happened. And since I haven't been given the decency of returned calls, texts, or other forms of communication, I likely will never know. This is where the fierce self love rubber hits the road.

Now when I stand in front of the mirror, I must fight past the nasty thoughts creeping in (you're too fat/too ugly/too old – that's why you were rejected) because I am the same person that I was a few weeks ago with the piercing hazel eyes, full lips, wild 'n free lusty curls, and stunning smile. I STILL admire and possess those attributes with or without someone's rejection. The rejection belongs to that person. I am left with me and I will fiercely carry on, rejected head held high.